My 4-year-old daughter apparently has a crush - to the exent that a preschooler can - on Joe Jonas, the sleek-haired lead singer of the Jonas Brothers. Or, as her 5-year-old friend R. hilariously deadpanned, "the hot one." She has repeatedly stated her intention to marry Joe, and frankly, I'm a little disappointed by this decision.
Crushing on Joe Jonas is the equivalent of saying Davey Jones was your favorite Monkee, or Farrah was your favorite Angel: Predictable, Cliched. Plus, Joe flat irons his hair, and I have yet to see him perform while playing an instrument, unlike the other two. This is her intended?
During a particularly obsessive phase of early adolescence, I got hooked on the Monkees via reruns of their classic television show. When my dear friend C. and I came out of the Monkees closet in college, we agreed that bassist Peter Tork was by far the most desirable member, with Mike Nesmith a close second. To this day, we judge anyone who says, "Oh, I was in love with Davey Jones!" Sheep.
I'm a big believer in the nonobvious crush as a sign of discriminating taste. George Harrison as favorite Beatle. Diminutive Eric Murphy of "Entourage" instead of eye candy Vince Chase. As adorable as Matthew Broderick was in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off," I always had a soft spot for Ferris' depressive sidekick Cameron, as portrayed by Alan Ruck.
I'd have been more impressed if my daughter had picked Kevin Jonas, who was hilariously tagged "the other one" by Washington Post music critic J. Freedom du Lac. K. Jo just doesn't generate the same level of high-pitched, brain-melting screaming as Joe or Nick, but does he complain? No. He gamely cranks up the guitar every night while facing a sea of "I (heart) u Joe!!" posters. You have to admire that kind of workmanlike indifference to popularity polls. Besides, a good flat iron will only get you so far.
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